


Garden of Beginnings

by needchocolatenow



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, M/M, not an au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 15:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8166058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/needchocolatenow/pseuds/needchocolatenow
Summary: Hunk gets a criminal record, Pidge might have blackmail on Keith, and Shiro's wondering what happened to his shirt.Keith and Lance fall into each other's orbits and keep falling.





	

**Author's Note:**

> *GAC = Galra Authorized Currency

It was a well-known fact that Lance got antsy the longer he was cooped in the Castle. The Castle may be large, but it housed a total of seven and many empty halls. Lance talked louder and more during those long stretches of travel, clamoring for attention and affection, his nerves eating everyone around him alive.

Oddly enough, it was Keith that took care of Lance. He knew Lance’s weaknesses as well as Lance knew his own. He knew how, with some smartly placed words, to bring a semblance of calm. He took Lance to the training deck, working with him until the buzz of energy and anxiety had been soothed away by the blossoming bruises of the day. Other times, they’d bicker over inconsequential memories of simple earthly comforts. In the worst of times, he and Lance would race in their Lions through the emptiness of space, each hurling pretend insults at the other as they flew.

After months of living together, Keith knew the intricate workings of Lance. He knew what to do.

The looks the others sent him were in a varying degree of smug satisfaction, like a hilarious secret that Keith was missing out on. 

Keith decided to interpret it as gratitude. 

* * *

 

“I did not sign up for this,” Lance grumbled as he gingerly placed a crate of crops down on the ground for Shiro and Keith to load into the hovering transport. Keith snorted, but privately in his head, he agreed. 

They had landed on the green planet of An, a peaceful farming planet on the rim of the Galra Empire. The Castle was running low on supplies and had stopped to restock, only to realize that the Altean currency that they carried no longer had any worth. Everything was priced in GAC now. 

In a word, they were broke.

“It’s just for now,” Shiro promised. He had taken off his shirt in the heat and Keith pretended not to see Pidge ogling. 

“Why isn’t Pidge helping?” Lance whined. “Too tiny for the crates?”

It was fairly obvious why Pidge wasn’t helping; the crates were more than she could carry. She sat on the rim of the transport, an old holo-pad in hand. On it, Keith could see her marking down what was being loaded onto the transport. 

Pidge immediately reacted, her back going ramrod straight. “Too tiny?” she shrieked. 

“Oh no,” said Hunk as she clambered off the transport. He was loading giant armfuls of alien crops into the crates, bundling them with care.

Keith stowed the crate he carried as quick as he possibly could to watch the ensuing scene; it was difficult to move fast when each of the crates weighed at least forty-five kilos. They easily surpassed Pidge’s bodyweight.

She grabbed a filled crate of crops from the ground, hefting it up with visible effort. The one Pidge got was probably more than that, it being stuffed with the strange pumpkin-corn looking things, but after two steps, she faltered and Shiro and Keith dived for her crate before she dropped it and crushed her toes. 

“My back,” Pidge grimaced. “God, I’m old.” 

Shiro made a face at that comment, taking the crate from Keith and hefting it onto his shoulder in a single, impressive move. “Please don’t say that.” 

Pidge blinked up at him, expression innocent. “Please flex more,” she said. 

The blush that ate Shiro’s face looked like sunburn. Lance laughed raucously and Keith did his best to bite down on his lips. He couldn’t stop smiling.

“You’re worse than me,” Lance crowed in delight. 

Keith rolled his eyes at Lance’s comment, still smiling, but everyone went swiftly back to work. Pidge returned to her perch on the rim of the hovering transport, rubbing at her back in intermittent periods. 

Under the heavy beat of the sun, Keith wiped the beads of sweat that spilled from his forehead and neck. The sky above was clear, nary a cloud in view. A soft breeze passed by. This place could have almost passed as Earth, if it weren’t for the iridescent blue of the grass and the musty yellow of the dirt. 

Hunk filled the empty crates with crops from the containment unit, packing them to the brim with careful precision, each piece like a Tetris block. Lance alternated between helping Hunk and moving the crates over to Keith and Shiro. They worked in tandem, like a well-oiled machine. 

Midday had just rolled by when Hunk exhaled an explosive sigh. “I need a water break,” he said. 

“Everyone, take five,” Shiro said, wiping the sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand. 

Keith all but collapsed in the shade of the large containment unit, the metal warm against his back. He was certain he had already sweat through the material of his tank top. His hair was in disarray, barely hanging on to the ponytail he had put it in. 

“Hey there.” 

A body flopped down next to his. It was Lance, all gangly tanned limbs, covered in sweat and dust and dirt. He held out a fresh water bottle. Keith took it and drank. 

“This is a change of pace,” Lance said, an easy going smile on his face. “It’s kind of nice, manual labor aside.” 

Lance looked good under the sun; he was clearly more at ease here than being cooped inside the Castle. The outdoors brought a certain glow to him, one that Keith had never seen before. It suited him. Lance wore happiness like a cloak, big and easy. The blue of his eyes stood out from the shirt he wore, a vibrant orange that was almost offensive to the senses. He had the sleeves rolled up and beads of sweat trickled down his exposed arms in a slow, lazy crawl.

Keith nearly choked on his water. 

“You okay, mullet boy?” Lance asked when Keith stopped coughing. 

“Yeah,” Keith replied, voice croaking. “Your smell got to me.”

Lance wrinkled his nose. “You’re not smelling the best there either,” Lance shot back, but with no real heat behind his words. “A bit like a dumpster on a hot day.” 

“At least I don’t smell like rotting fish guts that’s been sitting in a dumpster on a hot day,” Keith said. 

“Oh yeah? Well, at least I don’t smell like _week_ old rotting fish guts that’s been—”

“Boys,” said Pidge with a roll of her eyes.

* * *

 

A week and two thousand GAC later, everyone was congregated in the main common area, waiting for Allura and Coran to find them. Shiro was noticeably a shade darker, the healthy tan that he used to sport slowly settling back into his skin. Hunk was tinged red.

Pidge—poor Pidge—was a lobster. 

She laid on her front, face pushed into the cushions, body unmoving. Lance had, surprisingly, not laughed at her and instead, fetched a small green bottle and pressed it into her hand. She grunted her thanks, but otherwise made no effort to move. 

Keith smirked at her predicament. 

“I wouldn’t look that happy if I were you,” said Lance, having caught Keith’s expression. “You got a bit burnt yourself.” 

Keith hadn’t noticed. The only pain he felt had been a twinge in his shoulders and from his thighs, from muscles that weren’t normally used. 

“See? Here.” 

Lance leaned over, smoothing a thumb down Keith’s cheek. If he hadn’t felt the heat of sunburn before, he felt it now in the slide of Lance’s finger across his skin, a fire igniting along the side of his face. The feeling dripped down his spine, pooling in his gut like molten gold. 

Lance drew away, unaware of what he just did. 

On the other side of the couch, three pairs of eyes watched, boring into Keith’s soul. 

The door slid open and Allura and Coran came sauntering in, saving Keith from the uncomfortable stares. 

* * *

 

In the week that the Voltron Paladins were gone playing farmhand, Allura and Coran had somehow magically procured two thousand percent of what they earned. 

(Allura’s favorite tea set was missing, Shiro had observed. He looked wistful when he swept through the cupboards of the kitchen.)

They finally have a stock of food—not just the weird things Coran liked to cook up claiming all sorts of dodgy nutrition facts, but actual, solid food items that required chewing and tasted good. Keith had never been so thankful for Hunk; he was the one true leg of Voltron. His cooking was what fueled Keith some days.

They got a garden and four alien chicken things. Keith wasn’t sure what they were, but they laid eggs that were edible and beyond that, he didn’t care. The alien chicken things ate anything that was given to them, making them easy to care for. On the other hand, they ate anything; stepping into their pen meant ankles and shins were constantly getting pecked at by sharp little beaks. 

“Aww, Clarabell,” Lance cooed at one of the alien chicken. “You’re so cute.” 

Keith looked into their one, single eye that took up almost seventy percent of their body mass. He made a face and shoved one away from his ankle as he went to grab an egg. When he put the egg into the bag he carried, something triggered in the alien chickens. 

A sudden flurry of feathers and fur was attacking him. 

In the background, Keith could hear Lance laughing. 

“A little help?!” Keith shouted, shoving an alien chicken away from him. They only came back with a vengeance, their tiny little bodies slamming against his in an effort to defend the stolen egg. 

Lance cackled one last time before stepping in to help, pulling Keith away from the onslaught. “You need to distract them,” Lance said, his hand practically a brand from where it rested on Keith’s waist. 

Keith did his best to not lean against Lance; if he did, he was going to crush the eggs and all of this would have been for nothing. 

“Have some weird food goo,” Lance called out to the alien chickens. He pulled out a small jar of green goo from his pocket and threw the contents at the other side of the pen. The alien chickens immediately flocked to it, ignoring Keith entirely now. Lance beamed down at him. “See?” 

“I see,” Keith said, but it came out as more of a croak. 

He could see the smattering of freckles on the bridge of Lance’s nose, like little starbursts in the skies. Lance’s mouth was so close; all Keith had to do was push forward and up into that space to feel the press of lips against his own, to plunder the cavern of Lance’s mouth with his tongue. Lance’s hand was still on his waist, hot and heavy. 

“Wow, really? In the chicken coop?” 

Keith could have sworn he had a heart attack at the sound of Pidge’s voice. 

Lance seemed less effected, turning his head to stare at Pidge, who was leaning against the entranceway in a pose that was deliberately casual. Keith had no idea how long she had been standing there. He didn’t even hear her come in. 

Lance waved and walked over to her. “What’s up? Missed me?” he teased. 

Pidge rolled her eyes. “It does not take this long to get eggs,” she said and there was a wild, evil smirk playing on her lips. 

Keith turned away so she couldn’t see his face and quickly set about to collecting the rest of the eggs while Pidge and the demonic alien chickens were distracted.

* * *

 

“We’re being hailed?” Shiro asked, confused. 

Keith was also confused because from the way Coran explained it, it sounded like they were being asked to stop where they were and prepare to be boarded. By local planetary police. 

“Obviously they’re not getting on,” Lance snorted derisively. 

“Of course not,” Allura agreed. “But we should at least try to resolve things with them. Coran, please contact them.”

The police officer that had originally spoken to Coran appeared in the holocam and explained that he needed to confiscate illegally obtained material from the Castle and arrest the criminal that had stolen it in the first place. Lance almost laughed. Keith shoved a hand over Lance’s mouth to keep him quiet. 

“I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Allura. Her right eye was twitching in a way that meant she was annoyed and angry and was barely reigning in sharp words. “You also do not have probable cause or a warrant.”

The police officer sighed and ran a weary paw through his yellow fur. “Lady,” he said, his accent sounding strangely like a heavy Texan drawl. “Not only do I have probable cause, I have _evidence._ Stop your ship and prepare to be boarded. You will not get another warning.” 

The feed cut out.

Allura roared. “I will not stop this ship! If you want to get on, you’ll have to get in over my dead body!” She slammed her hands on the ship’s control, pulling up a wormhole ahead. 

“Um, Princess,” called Coran. His mustache twitched. Keith felt his stomach plummet and grabbed for the nearest thing to anchor himself down. 

“Full speed ahead!” Allura shouted as everyone else toppled over from the unexpected acceleration. 

“Oh my god, we’re running from space cops,” said Lance. He sounded almost gleeful. He had landed on his back and Keith landed next to him, hand gripping tight onto Lance’s bicep. 

When Allura judged that they had gotten far enough away, she began ranting. 

“Criminals!” she sputtered, throwing her hands above her head. “Who do they think we are?!”

Pidge cackled and all eyes turned to her, Keith’s included. He had a bad feeling about that laugh. 

“It’s all Hunk’s fault,” she said. She was on her computer, scrolling through something. She turned the screen around and showed them the video feed that she was watching. 

It was a video of Hunk, scooping up bucketfuls of yellow dirt and bringing it back to the Castle. Shiro face-palmed upon seeing it. Keith wondered if he should make a run for it, but decided against it even when his self-preservation instincts were going haywire.

“It’s dirt!” Hunk protested. “No one’s going to miss it! Besides, we needed a garden.” 

“Because of of its unique, nutrient rich properties, it’s against the law to take An’s soil without a permit,” Pidge said. “Look, it says in the police report right here.” She brought up the police report and Hunk made the most horrified squealing noise. 

“I-I’m a criminal!” he wailed. “How did I got a criminal record before Lance?” 

Lance laughed, throwing an easy arm over Hunk’s shoulders. “Way to go, buddy!” 

Allura looked furious. 

Hunk was Keith’s favorite, but when they all got punished for the crime, he became a little less Keith’s favorite. 

He was still better than Pidge though.

* * *

 

The Dirt Incident was never mentioned again. It was dark times in Paladin history.

The upside: the food improved.

* * *

 

They were in the middle of laundry duty when Lance leapt up from the floor, a sheet wrapped around his neck.On the other side of the room, Hunk met him, looking just as ridiculous with a shirt slung over his head and a sheet draped over his torso. 

Keith stared at the two and figured he should give up on folding the laundry. 

“I am the great dragon, you cannot have my treasures!” Hunk roared. He pulled the stacks of folded laundry closer to him. 

“I’m the legendary hero Pankraz! I will have my bride back!” Lance declared. In his hand, he brandished one of Shiro’s shirts like it was a sword. It flopped around, as a shirt would. 

“Seriously?” Keith asked, though who he was asking, he wasn’t sure. 

The other two laughed, chasing each other around the small laundry room, children in an imaginary world. Lance whipped Shiro’s shirt around uselessly and Hunk threw the folded clothes like frisbees at Lance, each of them missing their mark until the last one—a hideous orange shirt—smacked Lance straight in the chest. 

“I’ve been hit!” Lance groaned dramatically and he flopped down next to Keith. “Oh, my bride!” He reached up to cup Keith’s face. “I’m sorry I’ve failed you. Just know that my love for you is deeper than the oceans, more eternal than time!” He sucked in a gulping, stuttering breath. “Go, now, while the dragon is distracted.” 

“Why did you throw Shiro’s shirt into the rafters?” Hunk grumbled, trying fruitlessly to grab the sleeve that hung down. 

It was make-believe, just pretend, but Keith could only see Lance in the aftermath of the explosion; hurt and incoherent and brave. Burns imbedded into his skin, marring it in dirty, ugly patches. The back of his head sticky with sweat and blood. His eyes shut tight against the pain.

The breath Keith was taking hitched in his throat. 

“You can’t die,” he said. His insides felt broken. 

Lance’s eyes gentled, his thumb moving in soothing circles over Keith’s cheek. Whether it was a conscious action or not, Keith didn’t know. 

Keith pressed a hand into Lance’s hair, his fingers running over the soft, brown strands. 

“I will live on,” Lance stage whispered. “Forever. In your memories and in your heart. Do not forget me.” 

Hunk groaned, having finally retrieved Shiro’s shirt. 

“Ew,” he said. “Get a room.”

* * *

 

“What happened to my shirt?” 

Hunk pointed at Lance. “His fault.”

* * *

 

Keith blinked, taking in the scene. The multitudes of deep blue reflected in the water like a mirror, looking more like an infinite sky without a clear divide. Stars of all colors twinkled overhead, a constellation of galaxies held still by invisible strings. There was no wind on the banks of the river. 

Lance sighed, his body stretched out in the spot next to Keith, his long legs nearly reaching the water. 

He said something and then chuckled. Keith turned his eyes from the river to look at Lance, but all he could focus on was the way Lance’s mouth looked, curved into a smile. Lance was still talking, waving a hand in the air animatedly as he spoke. 

The swell of feelings in Keith’s chest threatened to spill out, to erupt from his mouth—from his very soul—to pour over like a brimming cup under a never ending tap. Keith swallowed it, pushed the tightness away from his mind, forced his eyes to Lance’s. 

Lance was looking back. 

“Is this it?” Lance asked. 

Keith didn’t know how to answer. He took Lance’s hand, sliding their fingers together, entwining them. He brought the back of Lance’s hand to his mouth and pressed the tenderest kiss he could muster to the bony knuckles. 

“No,” Keith murmured. Something else he wanted to say was stuck in his throat, but no matter what, he couldn’t seem to speak. 

Lance smiled, soft and sweet. “Come here,” he said, tugging Keith down.

And down and down and down. The feeling of free fall ate at Keith’s gut. 

Keith opened his eyes to stare up at the ceiling of his room. It was still dark and the Castle was silent, save for the hum of life support murmuring in the background. He had fallen off his bed, legs tangled in the sheets. His heart hammered in his chest and his face felt overly warm. 

“Oh,” he said into the emptiness of his room. 

* * *

 

“Wait, who the what now?” Lance asked in the aftermath of freeing a whole planet of Galra rule. A week long celebration was being planned in their honor.

Keith’s head swiveled around in shock at Allura, who looked vaguely uncomfortable. He had never seen her look this way before; her hands twisted in her dress and her shining blue eyes looked everywhere but at Keith. She glanced at Lance and then turned her head towards the ceiling, almost as if she was praying for strength. 

Coran took over for her.

“As the Princess said, the Qing’renese wants the Red Paladin—you, Keith—to marry their Princess Pearl,” Coran said. “It’s tradition.”

“It’s tradition to give a girl to random strangers?” Pidge interjected, voice sharp. 

“A tradition to marry off royal children to the strongest warriors,” Coran elaborated. “And they’ve chosen Keith.” 

“I reject the proposal,” Keith said. 

“Yes, obviously,” Coran said with a blithe shrug. Keith raised an eyebrow at that. Obviously, what?

“We cannot just…spurn them like this,” Allura said with a sigh. “It’s a delicate matter all around. I have spoken to King Xu about it, but it seems it was Princess Pearl’s idea. He agreed and I do not think he will take lightly to you rejecting his favorite daughter.” She had finally stopped looking at the ceiling and this time, looked Keith in the eye. “You have to convince her that _she_ does not want this union.” 

“I say we just up and leave,” Pidge muttered. 

Behind her, Hunk nodded in agreement. Shiro sighed. 

“She’ll be coming to the Castle soon,” Coran said. 

Keith’s brows furrowed. “What?” 

“I arranged the meeting,” Allura said. “Ordinarily, according to Qing’renese culture, the bride and groom meet for the first time at the wedding. I’ve convinced Princess Pearl that she should speak with you before she asks your hand in marriage. This is your only chance to convince her otherwise.” 

“Whoa, whoa,” Lance interrupted. He slung an arm over Keith’s shoulder, the action easy and customary for Lance. “Hold on. What the heck? One second it’s ‘ _Keith, you might have to get married to a stranger’_ and now it’s ‘ _Keith, your future bride is coming here’_?!” The arm over Keith’s shoulder curled, almost possessively, and Keith felt a stirring in his chest. There was pressure being exerted on his lungs, threatening to crush his organs from the inside. His heart beat in his throat and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Lance. 

“It’s fine,” Keith managed to say, though his voice sounded quiet and strangled to his own ears. “I’ll talk to her.” 

Lance turned to him, an uncharacteristic fire in his eyes. “What?” he grounded out, unhappy. 

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Keith said. “I got this.” 

Lance glared. “And what if you don’t? What if they decide to kidnap you and take you back to their castle and you’re tied down and you can’t escape because you’re all drugged up? What’re you going to do then?” 

Keith barely managed to stifle a laugh as he untangled himself from Lance. “That won’t happen,” he said. 

* * *

 

It happened.

Pidge laughed until she was blue in the face and Keith really wanted to kick her in the teeth. He couldn’t move.

“We should have just up and left like I said. This is what happens when no one listens to the smart one,” said Pidge.

“Shut up,” hissed Keith. “Hurry up and get me out of here.”

* * *

 

It wasn’t until a million light years had been put between Keith and the planet Qing’ren that he could finally breathe at ease. They were still tentatively allies and the Qing’renese had sent a formal apology for the kidnapping. 

Keith vowed to never step foot on their planet again. 

“Looks like your wedding got crashed,” Lance said. His voice was without humor, at odds with his words.

They were converged in the main common room, Keith sitting on the sofa with Lance curled in a ball next to him. Lance was sullen, despite what Keith considered a successful rescue mission. On the other side of Lance was Shiro, whose eyes darted conspicuously between Keith and Lance. 

“You should have seen him,” said Pidge. “I think I have a picture.” 

“Pidge, you really shouldn’t,” said Hunk. 

Keith glared, but Pidge wasn’t deterred. Hunk cowered next to Pidge. 

“Why did you even agree to it,” Lance muttered, less of a question and more of a comment. “You’re an idiot. You’re lucky that you got out of there before you got hitched to some weird alien princess.” 

“I wasn’t going to,” Keith said. 

“You say that!” Lance exploded, getting to his feet in a single, fluid motion. “You say that, but look what happened anyway. What if you were taken away for sure? What am I—what are _we_ —going to do then? We can’t form Voltron without you!” 

“I can take care of myself!” Keith snapped, confused. Lance’s anger only fed his own muddled fury, coiling around him like a shroud. “What the hell, Lance? You never cared before.” 

“Of course I care!” Lance yelled. “Why do you never take better care of yourself?!” 

Keith pushed off the couch, blood boiling in his veins and his vision narrowed down to Lance and only Lance, tunnel vision at its worst. “I take care of myself just fine,” he hissed. “Back off.” 

Lance’s eyes narrowed. “Make me,” he growled.

Keith launched at Lance, fist at the ready when metal curled over his fingers and a brick wall in the shape of a body was in his way. 

“Stop it,” said Shiro, his whole countenance exuding the fact that he was unamused. Holding Lance back was Hunk and Pidge, one hanging off each of his arms. Lance was visibly trembling, his mouth in a hard line. “Both of you.” 

“Tell that to him,” Keith snarled, wrenching his fist from Shiro’s grasp. 

“Keith,” said Shiro, disappointment in his voice. “Lance was worried. We all were. And Lance, you should think before you speak. You were out of line. Apologize.” 

Lance took a breath as if he were about to retort, but deflated halfway through. “Fine. Sorry,” Lance said, though he didn’t look it at all. 

Shiro raised an eyebrow at Keith. “Your turn,” he said. 

“Me? Why?” 

Shiro tapped Keith’s fist with his human hand. “You threw the first punch. Apologize.” 

“I was—”

The look Shiro sent his way promised retribution and Keith held his tongue. 

“Sorry,” Keith forced out. He still wanted to punch Lance in the face and he was sure that the sentiment showed. 

“Good,” said Shiro. He patted the both of them awkwardly on the shoulders. “Now, get along.” 

* * *

 

It was Keith’s turn to collect eggs—again. It always seemed like he was the one that had to go into the alien chicken pen, even though logically he knew that everyone switched off on certain days. The alien chickens, all of which had been named affectionately by Lance, hated Keith. 

The feeling was mutual. 

Clarabell, easily Lance’s favorite, was evidenced by being the fattest one in the pen. Minnie and Daisy he couldn’t tell apart. The only male of the bunch, Pluto, was the smallest and most vicious and probably hated Keith the most. He always made it a point to attack Keith’s ankles. 

“Get away from me, you stupid chickens,” Keith muttered as he scattered some food goo away from the nests. Only two of them took the bait, the other two staying to glare at him balefully. 

He gathered the eggs even when they attacked him. He pushed them off, somehow managing to escape the pen without letting them out and flipped them off. It was childish, but the feeling was euphoric. 

“What did they ever do to you?” 

Keith looked up to see Lance watching him, arms crossed over his chest. He was still wearing his pajamas, his feet clad in the blue lion slippers. After all this time, Keith still had no idea where he got them. 

“They hate me,” Keith replied, ducking around Lance to head to the kitchen. Hopefully, Hunk was already up and Lance would get distracted so Keith wouldn’t have to deal with the conversation he knew was coming. 

They got to the kitchen, but it was still dark. Hunk wasn’t up yet or if he was, he was avoiding the kitchen. 

Keith turned the lights on and wordlessly shoved the eggs he collected into the fridge. He was lucky if he didn’t accidentally crack one, but it didn’t feel like anything had leaked from the shells so he put it out of mind and shut the door. 

Sitting on the counter, swinging his long legs back and forth, was Lance. Keith met his eyes for a brief moment, found himself sinking into a shadowed sea, and abruptly turned away. 

“I just want to say I’m sorry,” Lance said after an audible gulp. “I overreacted the other day. About the whole…princess bride thing. Can we move past this? Please?

“Really,” Keith gritted through his teeth, still refusing to look at Lance. “I didn’t notice your overreaction.”

“Not the time to be snarky with me,” Lance said. “I’m extending an olive branch here.”

Keith pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing at the spot for a second before pulling out a chair at the table, sitting down. He stared at the blank wall across from him. He wasn’t upset at Lance; he was confused. Lance was angry and Keith had only mirrored it.

“Why?” Keith asked. He stared down at the table, at his hands. 

Silence answered him. He thought Lance wasn’t going to answer him, but then there was the clatter of footsteps and Lance had pulled out the seat that was directly in front of Keith. A steely resolve was seeped into the set of Lance’s shoulders. 

“The idea that you would be gone didn’t sit right with me,” Lance said, his voice sounding small and quiet in the kitchen. He may have been sitting up straight, but his gaze was focused on a point beyond Keith’s head. “I know it was irrational. I’m sorry.”

Keith exhaled, slow. “I’m sorry too,” he said. “I shouldn’t have tried to punch you.”

At that, Lance smiled. “I would have dodged it.” 

Keith snorted. “As if. You would have just stood there and taken it. Your reflexes aren’t that fast.” 

“How dare you!” Lance howled, laughing, the stiffness falling from his posture. 

Keith laughed too, as the tension between them dwindled, cooling and stilled until it dissipated. He couldn’t help it, being so attuned to Lance. Lance’s smile was infectious, his cheer a rapturous experience. Keith was but the tide and Lance, the moon.

* * *

 

They were on laundry duty again. 

This time, Hunk had deliberately ditched them, citing he already had a permanent task of cooking and thus, shouldn’t be forced to do laundry. He had given Keith a knowing look before abandoning them, but Keith didn’t know how to interpret it. 

He and Lance sat in companionable silence as they sorted the laundry and then folded it. Lance hummed something tuneless under his breath as his fingers worked. 

“You know—” Lance started, but then abruptly trailed off. 

“I know what?” Keith asked. 

Lance grinned half-heartedly. “So many things you don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. 

Keith rolled his eyes. He picked up a sock—green, probably Pidge’s—and threw it at Lance’s head, where it landed softly in his hair. 

“Oh, is that the way you want to play it?” Lance grabbed handfuls of the laundry he had just folded and tossed them in a barrage in Keith’s direction. They were going to be scolded for this, but Keith couldn’t find it in himself to care. He grabbed from his own pile of laundry and matched Lance’s volley with one of his own. 

“Hah!” Lance crowed as he tossed a sock straight into Keith’s face. 

“Idiot!” Keith retaliated. “Stupid! Moron! Idiot!” Each word was punctuated with a toss of a article of clothing.

“Wow, creative there, aren’t you,” Lance deadpanned, taking no offense to the insults Keith had hurled at him. Keith leapt up with a sheet in his hands, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “Wait! Wait, what are you doing?” 

Keith wasted no time pushing Lance over and rolling him into the sheet. At the end of it, only Lance’s head and his feet stuck out. 

“You did not just wrap me like a burrito,” Lance said incredulously. 

“Burritos don’t talk,” Keith said. 

Lance wriggled like a worm, trying to stand up, but ultimately failing, landing on his front at Keith’s feet. Keith felt a distinct, hazy feeling trickle through his veins. It was like rainwater dripping from his skin, like the caress of wind on a hot summer day. He was both cold and hot and somewhere in between. 

“I am the great dragon,” Keith said, remembering the words Hunk had uttered all those weeks ago. “And you are mine, burrito.” 

Lance laughed and squirmed again. “No!” he shouted dramatically in a high falsetto. “Please, great dragon, let me go! I’m too young and not delicious enough to be eaten!” Lance started to roll over, valiantly making half a rotation and beginning to free himself from the sheets, when Keith moved, bracketing Lance between his knees to prevent him from unravelling completely. 

“Burritos don’t talk,” Keith repeated. 

Lance only smirked up at him. “This one does.” 

Keith leaned down and kissed him. 

He kissed Lance’s smirk, his shock and surprise that evolved into joy. Pliant lips against his opened, a wet tongue brushing against his own. Keith delved deeper, the heat pooling in the depths of his belly. Lance moaned, the sound vibrating into Keith’s mouth. 

It was beautiful. It was all Keith could have asked for. 

He didn’t know how long they stayed there on the floor kissing, but it must have been a long time. Lance was the first to pull away, wriggling as he could to free himself from the sheet. 

“You’re sitting on my hand,” Lance said and if the way his voice broke, rough and deep, sent a jolt of excitement down Keith’s spine, well. 

He let Lance unravel himself and when Lance was finally free, he gave Keith a sidelong glance, full of mischievous intent before he pounced. 

Keith was tackled backwards and Lance sat on top of his chest, his thighs on either side of Keith. It was a good view. Keith brought his hands up, dipping his fingers into the pants material that Lance was wearing. He made several long, slow scratching motions down those thighs. Lance shivered, obviously enjoying the touch. 

“God, seriously?” Lance asked, his eyes feverishly bright as he looked down at Keith. 

“Flattering,” said Keith, attempting to rise up, but Lance pushed a hand onto Keith’s shoulder, forcing him back down.

“What is this?” Lance asked. He looked serious, even with his red, swollen lips and his glassy, bright eyes. Debauched. Keith wanted to keep going; he _wanted—_

Keith stilled. A half remembered dream sprung to mind, one of a million stars overhead and a still river with a surface like a mirror. He took Lance’s other hand that wasn’t pressed against his shoulder, rubbing a thumb over Lance’s knuckles, slow and soothing. He pressed his lips against those knuckles, delicate and reverent. 

“It’s a beginning,” Keith said, his voice almost a whisper. 

Their eyes met. Slowly, a smile curved on Lance’s lips and he leaned down, sliding their mouths together again. 

### End


End file.
